


Critical Role Drabbles

by bookwormforever



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormforever/pseuds/bookwormforever
Summary: Just felt like dusting off my writing skills and what better way to fill the void with CR stories!
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Fjord & Beauregard Lionett, Fjord/Jester Lavorre, Jester Lavorre & Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a teeny drabble to help me get back on my writing game. Maybe there will be more, maybe not. Who's to say!

There’s a certain comfort to being at sea again, Fjord thought as his eyes scanned the horizon. The sky was just beginning to blush a faint pink, the promise of a beautiful sunset colouring the clouds. Every so often, the golden sunlight would catch on a cresting wave, making it seem as if there was treasure glittering just underneath the surface.

The ocean was at ease today, enough wind to bear the boat westward at a steady pace, small waves lapping at the hull. A gull’s cry rang out overhead as the pale bird glided alongside the ship, scanning the deck for a scrap of food.

Jester, who sat with Yasha and Sprinkle, tossed up a chunk of bread and laughed as the bird swooped in to snatch it. Yasha seemed to say something off-colour about the bird, causing her tiefling companion’s face to contort into an exaggerated frown. Yasha chuckled, breaking a piece of her bread off for Sprinkle, and assuring Jester she had no plans of dining on seagull tonight.

Beau dangled off the rigging, shouting orders to the crew that they promptly ignored, enraptured with a card game Veth was running with Caduceus and a few of the deckhands. The latter were all quite impressed with the halfling’s luck, cheering loudly as she laid down another winning hand, though the pastel firbolg smiled knowingly at Veth, who grinned impishly in return.

Fjord caught sight of Frumpkin nestled comfortably in a coil of ropes, tail swishing gently as his eyes glowed an unnatural white. Caleb also sat not ten feet away, feigning focus on a thick tome he had picked up at the last port, copper wire occasionally flashing in the sun.

 _I’ll let them have their fun, thought the captain_ , a grin pulling at the side of his mouth. _Besides, Veth usually slips the crew’s losings back into their pockets at some point… though often in the form of buttons or other oddities she finds_.

“Cap’n,” Orly said, breaking Fjord out of his musings, “we appear to be, uh, sailing in the wrong direction. Now… it’s no’ my place to tell you where we ought to go, but if you’re still wantin’ to reach Port Damali by tomorrow, you best shift course just so.”

The large, scaled hand of his navigator gently nudged the wheel, causing the ship to turn slowly more northward.

Fjord cleared his throat self-consciously, eyes snapping back to the sea.

“Right you are, Orly,” he said as his grip tightened on the wheel. “Just testing to see if you were paying attention. As you were.”

“Mmhmm,” rumbled the tortle, shifting away from the helm and thus causing his bagpipes to give a mournful groan. “D’you mind if I pipe down the sun, sir?”

“Pipe away, Orly,” Fjord said, watching the glowing sun bathe them all in her golden glow.


	2. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for episode 118 of campaign two. Entirely fjorester fluff.

“Can I kiss you?”

Jester’s stomach erupted with enthusiastic butterflies once again as she laid on her cat-covered bed, clutching the misshapen unicorn figurine in her hands. The angular sides of its body dug into her palm but she didn’t mind. 

She swore that, even though it had been hours, she could still feel his breath on her face, the thrum of his heart against her hand that rested on his (very nice) chest. His eyes were molten gold and she knew that no dragon’s horde could compare to the riches she would find in there.

She had dreamed of this moment for so long and she was determined to remember every facet. 

He had been so cautious; devoid of the bravado and theatricality she was so used to seeing in him. This was nothing like how he had held her before, the strong grip as she fell from the Abor Exemplar, nor the desperate clutching as the avatar of Sehanine pulled her and Artagan towards judgement. His hands merely ghosted against her form, one hand resting against the small of her back while the other gently tipped her chin upwards. 

This was so unlike how she read about romance, being overcome by passion, crashing against one another like thundering waves in a storm. There were no heaving bosoms, torn chemises, or bulging muscles. 

Instead, this was a sweet and gentle thing. Thoughtful and caring. Tender. Things that, deep down, Jester knew Fjord to be. 

She flopped on her bed, a chorus of unhappy mews as she disturbed her cuddle companions, burying her face in the fluffy white belly of Artemis, who rumbled contentedly. It was hard to sleep, knowing Fjord was just a few doors away.

—————

Fjord ran a hand down his burning face, fingers lingering against his still-tingling lips. Thoughts swirled in his head, discordant voices all vying for dominance. _Should I have kissed her? Did she mind my tusks? Was my breath okay? Oh gods, what did I have for dinner again? Will she misunderstand my intentions? Would she be okay, knowing we share a floor? Worst yet, what if it—if I—was disappointing?_

That was, by far, the most terrifying and gut-wrenching thought. What if, after everything they’d been through, he just couldn’t measure up to her idea of him. It wouldn’t be her fault, of course. That’s part of the reason he tried for so long to push down these feelings: because she deserved someone brave, strong, smart, kind. She had every right to expect those things from her partner.

A small glimmer of hope remained lit in his heart, however. He had asked and she had agreed. That counted for something, right?

He groaned, removing himself from the swaying hammock, the motion nauseating rather than soothing. It felt as if Jester’s unicorn hamsters were having a rave in his abdomen. He had wanted to have this huge reveal for her: chocolates, flowers, maybe some mystical cats holding signs? He wanted it to be romantic and extravagant, this grand gesture to show her how he felt, seeing as words keep failing him. But instead, she was hurt and he couldn’t hold back any longer. For someone who usually didn’t struggle to charm folk, that blue trickster always seemed to have him fumbling.

“Uh, you there... brown cat,” Fjord said, striding over to the little fae creature. “Do you know what Jester likes? I mean, I know she likes pastries and candies and stuff. But... what’s her favourite? She mentioned cinnamon before... maybe a nice cinnamon roll? With frosting? Do you think she would like that? We could send it to her room—oh! How dexterous are you little fellas, hm? Could you ice this—” he drew the Tusktooth symbol on a spare sheet of parchment “—onto the roll? Is that too cheesy? What should I _do?!_ ”

“Mrow,” the brown cat replied.

“We’re fjucked,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. The cat eyed him seriously. “Fine. I’m fucked.”

The brown tabby purred loudly, rubbing its body along his shins.


End file.
